


i'm kinda fucked????? like hey, i'm in love with a blonde time-travelling alien who asked me where i got my ears pierced once

by thasmins



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Bless The Dr Who's Heart, F/F, Fluff, Humour, Light Angst, Unrequited Love, Yasmin Pining After The Dr Who????? More Likely Than You Think, Yasmin's A Phucking Lesbian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-15 14:53:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16065473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thasmins/pseuds/thasmins
Summary: Feminist Brain: The Doctor's not gonna fall in love with you, you tit, and that's completely valid.Lesbian Brain: Their coat???? The way it swooshes and makes them more dramatic????? My wig was snatched, I'm so fucking g a y.





	1. my crush info-dumps me on shit i have no absolute clue about, and i love it

**Author's Note:**

> YASMIN KHAN IS BIG, PHUCKING MOOD

**my crush info-dumps me on shit i have no absolute clue about, and i love it**

 

* * *

 

Itapharis is just a giant sphere of cotton candy that happens to be bigger than Earth’s Sun itself. But not cotton candy literally.

However, the soil – if it’s even soil – feels so much like cotton, and it looks so much like cotton; Yasmin attempts to grab a chunk, but she can’t even take up a few strands without struggling.

“It’s hard, innit?” says the Doctor; they’re a few arm spans away skimming through the baby blue plant life and other pastel life forms. They have to to knee-high their way over when crossing through a thick patch of tall, grass-like shrubbery.

Then, they drop down into a squat position, using one palm on the ground for balance, and their free hand gently touches the surface of the cotton-like terrain. Actually, no, they’re  _ petting _ it.

“What you’re stepping on is sentient cotton-soil,” they say, repeatedly caressing more of the land, and they droop their head so close their nose almost touches it. “That’s not what they’re really called, though. I think I got it from another old friend of mine.” They pause – one brief moment that may have lasted an hour for them. “They don’t like being pulled at. This chunk is almost the size of Scotland.”

Oh.

“You mean,” Yasmin says, blinking several times in confusion, “that this land is just, like, all one organism?”

The Doctor shrugs. “Pretty much.” They sniff at the cotton strands and even dares to lick them. No hesitation whatsoever.

Yasmin’s got to remind herself that the Doctor is a time-travelling alien with two hearts, a sentient time machine, and they don’t have to accustom themselves to 21st century human culture. So, in conclusion, they can lick anything they want...

...Not that she wants to anything about that. Hm.

“I mean, yeah, they have a conscience and all, but don’t worry, they’re harmless. 2 billion species of life forms live here and most of them step on these big fellas. They’ve been living for billions of years, old bastards they are. They do speak to you sometimes. That’s if they ever have mood to…”

And Yasmin’s just staring at the Doctor, in absolute awe that this alien has decided to take up three strangers from Earth to travel with them when they could just be having fun out in all of space and time alone. They know so much, and yet they can still be amazed by something as simple as sentient, living terrain that’s been living for billions of years.

She just thinks about how her life would’ve been like if she didn’t go after the Doctor. At least she could after this trip is thank them.

(Is she developing a crush? On an alien that calls themself a  _ Time Lord _ ? Is she really going into gay panic mode because of an infodump about conscious land? Maybe so.)

 


	2. my crush looks better in my own clothes than i do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gay

**my crush looks better in my own clothes than i do**

 

* * *

 

The familiar wheezing sound is so loud through the thin walls of Yasmin’s flat, she just thanks a higher power up there that her neighbours don’t give a shit.

In her striped pyjamas, closing a book she’s reading without the bookmark, she slides off her bed and heads for the living room. On the way, she flicks several light switches. The light showers her so bright she has to blink several times before moving again.

As expected, the police box has landed right in the middle of the living room. Luckily, she has just pushed the new coffee table (which she really likes) aside so that the last incident wouldn’t happen again. When the Doctor comes here for the first time, her poor old coffee table that her grandmother has given her a week before her death is placed in some random room inside the time machine, and they haven’t located the sentimental effect yet. If they could even.

Yasmin’s got a hot cocoa ready, and she watches as the Doctor steps off the TARDIS and doesn’t know if she should be worried or annoyed with their appearance. Soot covers a concerning area of the alien’s body, stuck in their hair roots, their coat smudged with the ashy substance. Still, they have this ridiculously cheery smile that almost gets her knees weak.

“Hi, Yaz!” they greet, huffing in a deep breath. “Thanks for letting me drop off here. I’m sorry for that quick call. Got some nasty buggers faffing in a spaceship and blasted my TARDIS, but it’s alright! I’ve gotten most of the damage corrected, but I’m kind some kind of a craving right now, and my kitchen is out of food.”

“So, you came here just to eat?”

“Aye, Graham says your cooking’s champion.”

Hey, at least she’s getting complimented for her food. Her parents has never been pleased with her cooking, and Graham’s the only who’s ever tried her cooking besides them.

“Okay,” she agrees, “but you’re not eating until you get yourself cleaned up.”

The Doctor looks down at their body – a horrified look on their face. “I’ll be right back,” they say, turning to open the TARDIS again. When they try pulling the handle, it never budges. “Oh, come on! I’m flaggin!”

(Eeh by gum. It’s late, probably past midnight, she has papers to finish for a class in three days, and her disaster lesbian arse decides to help feed a disaster Time Lord who fell from the sky once. Please help her.)

“You can always use the shower and borrow a set of clothes from me, y’know?”

(FRIGGIN HELL!!!! That’s gay shit right there. Yes, that’s gay.)

“Really?”

Yasmin nods, sipping the hot cocoa from her mug. (That’s because she doesn’t want to say anything that’ll make her want to die in the next second). She sets it on the nightstand next to the sofa, stands up a bit too hurriedly, and motions for the Time Lord to follow her.

She guides them to her bedroom and right away, the embarrassment creeps in when she notices that she hasn’t exactly given her best efforts to clean the space. Yes, her entire flat can be irritating to a minimalist’s eye – she has a problem with taking up people’s art when offered – but she’s usually organised about it. But her room is just a mess right now: a few jumpers are hung on either the desk, her bedpost, or on a beanbag, a pair of trainers are found in the opposite sides of her room, papers with chords and lyrics everywhere, and her guitar leans by the nightstand when the case is literally next to it.

“Sorry for the mess,” she simply comments, her palms sweaty. It’s as if she’s being judged by some higher power up there.

“S’alright,” the Doctor replies. it’s cozy in here.”

Yasmin sighs, picking up some papers and setting them on her desk, and pulls her closet open. It’s a walk-in one but not as extravagant and not as roomy as the one in the second _Princess Diaries_ movie.

“Do you have some type of preference of clothes?” she asks. “Other than long, majestic hoodie-coats because I’m too poor for that.”

“Anything comfortable is fine for me, honestly.”

Nodding, Yasmin heads inside the closet. She skims through hangers and folded stacks of clothes until she settles for a knitted jumper with star patterns, pinstripe leggings, and red fuzzy fox socks and also grabs a towel and a brush.

“I’m showing you to my bathroom to take a bath and have a change. The faucets in my shower are weird in my case because the left one’s cold and the other is hot. Just a warning,” she says. “There’s a blow-dryer in a small closet in there, and you can leave your dirty clothes in the basket right there. I know it isn’t as quick as the washer in the TARDIS, but it’s heavenly. I have a mango-scented fabric softener I’m obsessed with.”

“Bless you, Yaz, thanks for this!” the Doctor exclaims. “Oh, and now I know why I keep smelling mangoes in the TARDIS!” They enter the bathroom and close the door.

If she’s in the TARDIS at this moment, she would hear judgemental warbling right about now. _You’re in gay panic mode, Yaz._ She would say.

Yasmin shakes her head as she walks into the kitchen. She hasn’t cooked all day long and has resorted to microwavable ramen noodles for the sake of saving time due to her papers. Unhealthy university student diets, begone (...thot)!

At least now, she has a completely valid reason to waste time.

(Of course, nursing herself with a chapter of Codename Villanelle after having a breakdown over uni is still a valid reason to procrastinate, but today’s society has a thing for invalidating students with major stress issues. She feels sorry for the American students out there who are having to pay a debt of $70 thousand, it’s a literal hell.)

She prepares herself to start cooking: bringing out a skillet and a bowl, grabbing boneless chicken breasts and lemon juice from the fridge, flour, salt, pepper from the pantry, and her favourite ingredient of this dish – white wine from the wine cabinet.

It’s chicken piccata that she’s cooking, possibly her favourite.

The Doctor comes out of the bathroom 15 minutes later, and they come out dressed in the chosen clothes and shaking their damp blonde hair.

Yasmin’s in the middle of simmering the chicken and almost drops the wine bottle in her hand.

The jumper hugs the Time Lord’s form loosely, the sleeves even going past their thumbs, but the pinstripe leggings accentuate her legs perfectly. The fuzzy fox socks adds a bit of cuteness as if the Doctor isn’t cute already. And their hair? It looks glorious after a shower.

It’s just so unfair. They look so adorable with clothes on. They make her clothes look much more attractive anyways.

“Wow,” she simply says.


	3. my crush has a thing for life or death situations

**my crush has a thing for life or death situations**

 

* * *

 

It’s supposed to be a time of rest. It’s supposed to be a time where she could just relax in bed and reading _Codename Villanelle_. It’s supposed to be a time where she didn’t have to run.

Nope. It’s because she decides to let the Doctor decide how she and Ryan are going to spend their holidays.

“We should’ve listened to Graham.” Ryan sighs. Said man is currently at his home, probably reading old newspapers and finishing crossword puzzles.

Yasmin has this _defect_ where she’s too shit at admitting things especially when she’s around Ryan (hubris is a fancy word for that, Graham tells her once). She really can’t win this defend-the-Doctor situation because it’s totally better to be stuck at her flat in a blizzard than being held hostage by potato-looking warrior aliens who have thousands of ways of disintegrating her into ashes.

“I’m literally sat here!” the Time Lord themself pouts. They’re curled up in a ball, head deep in thought until Ryan’s hurtful remark interrupts the silence.

Yaz sighs. She has to tell them the truth (because it’s really the right thing to do, and yes, she can still function as an individual with thoughts around them).

“Not to be rude or anything, but Doctor, this is the second-worst holiday of the entire time of my existence.”

“At least it’s not the first!”


	4. MY CRUSH FUCKING YEETED I'M SCREAMING BLOODY MURDER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this in my free period and i couldn't stop laugHING i hate myself
> 
> (there's so much language in here HDHDHDD i'm sorry i got carried away)

**MY CRUSH FUCKING YEETED I’M SCREAMING BLOODY MURDER**

 

* * *

 

“What in the name of fuckery are they doing now?”

“Language, Ryan – oh, shit.”

Well, fuck. The three of them watch from afar as the Doctor reaches the edge of a steep cliff where nothing can be seen below but a fluff of clouds.

“Doctor, no!” she shouts; her voice echoes loudly.

Of course, the Doctor can’t hear them. They’ve turned off their communicators a while back in order to hide their friends’ location. A fucking hero, they are.

They dare to slide their heel over the edge –

shit, shit, shit, fucking _SHIT_

– and the Doctor’s losing balance –

CHRIST, FUCKING SHIT

– and then they stop. They stand perfectly still, most likely a plastering a smile on their face, as if a group of Cybermen aren’t after their own skin.

Chuffin heck. Bloody twat. Fucking cunt.

But then, the Doctor waves at them, saying something she can’t read their lips by, and –

BLEEDING FUCK.

“YEET!”

The Doctor proclaims valiantly, and with too much excitement, as they swan dive off the cliff, Yasmin’s cursing the living shit out of everyone on board, Ryan struggling to hold onto his laughter (and receives a slap from Yas from that), and Graham’s having to calm them both down (God bless his heart).

“Please, just – ”

“WE NEED TO SAVE THE BLOODY DOCTOR OR SOMEONE’S ARSE IS NOT GOING TO BREATHE – ”

“You’re already – ”

“RYAN, I WILL NOT HESITATE TO – ”

Out of the blue, the blue box appears in front of them, and the Doctor, blonde hair frizzed up and coat missing, exits at the sight of Yasmin gripping on Ryan’s shirt so tightly her knuckles are discoloured severely.

“Graham, you shite, did you not tell them what my escape plan was?” the Doctor asks.

“In my defence, I forgot exactly what you were trying to say. You left your hardly readable instructions on a rubber ducky.”

Yep. She’s really in love with an idiot.

( _I’m mOrOsExUaL!!!1!1!1!1! I fall in love_ _with dumbasses._ Ugh.)


End file.
